


The Belated Christmas Present

by AtoTheBean



Series: The Highland Bonds [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Back in London, Highland Christmas 'Verse, M/M, Three months later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25476031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtoTheBean/pseuds/AtoTheBean
Summary: A few months after the events of Highland Christmas, Q comes home to find a package from the north.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: The Highland Bonds [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845430
Comments: 46
Kudos: 143
Collections: 007 Fest Fancreations, MI6 Cafe Collections





	The Belated Christmas Present

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's been a while since we finished with the Highland Christmas Boys, but they keep pulling on my mind...
> 
> This is just a bit of a short epilogue so we can check back in on these boys...

Mid-March is dreary and wet, the grey rain-slicked kerbs contrasting with the cheery spring fashions in London’s shop windows. The mannequins are wearing sandals and short sleeves. Q’s shoes are leaking freezing rain.

But he’s all sunny on the inside. Upon their return from Scotland, he and Bond went out on several dates, Bond met the fur-children (and only one pair of shoes was ruined). They spent a month proving to themselves that they could date, Q could still manage Bond’s missions without panicking that he might get hurt, and that they still wanted everything that seemed so fairy-tale-ish in Scotland. And then they got on with the next month. And the next. Now James comes straight home to Q’s flat after a mission: to celebrate if it had gone well, or for solace if it hadn’t.

There had been adjustments, of course. Q had developed a love for opera, of all things. James had learned that the benefit of joining Q in one of the underground (literally) clubs to see some obscure band was the joy of watching Q dance… and the joy of taking him home and working out all that pent-up sexual tension that comes from feeling music throb through one’s body for hours and hours.

They completed the paperwork to split the estate in early January. They submitted the paperwork with MI6 about their relationship in February. And just earlier this week, they submitted the paperwork to Creighton regarding the contract: the legal description of the portion of Skyfall being transferred to the Distillery in exchange for Bond receiving a small percentage of future profits, plus a lifetime supply of scotch and gin, to which Creighton had very reasonably added a “not-to-exceed per annum” limit.

Just last night they had discussed several other types of paperwork. Notably the lease on Bond’s flat and whether having two was truly necessary at this point.

Which is why Q is in a good mood as he opens the flat door, despite having freezing, soggy socks. Especially when he realizes James is home early and something in the kitchen smells _wonderful_.

“Quain?” James calls from the kitchen as Q removes his raincoat and shoes by the door, not wanting to track water onto the wood floors.

“I’m soaked,” he calls back. “I’m going to change out of these before I come help.”

James emerges from the kitchen with two glasses of red wine, handing one to Q. “No need to help. Everything’s simmering… oh my, you _are_ soaked,” he adds as he combs his fingers through Q’s drenched curls and offers him a kiss. “Go take a shower. I’d join you, but I do actually need to keep an eye on supper if it’s not going to burn.”

Q returns about ten minutes later, much warmer and dressed in thick socks, torn jeans, and a favorite stretched out red jumper, just as James is dishing up the pasta.

“The paperwork came back today from Creighton,” James says as they tuck in.

“Oh? Any issues?”

“Mm-mm,” James hums as he takes a sip of wine. “It’s all signed on his side. I just need to take it all down to a barrister this week and sign my parts, and it will be official.”

“That’s fast,” Q comments. “And this is really good, by the way.”

James nods his thanks for the compliment. “Separating the estate turned out to be much less involved than I expected. I probably should have dealt with it years ago.”

“But then you wouldn’t be part owner in a distillery,” Q counters.

“Hmmm. I might have lost out on a great many things,” James acknowledges, touching Q’s hand for a moment before taking his next bite.

“I like to think we would have gotten there eventually,” Q says, with a coy smile.

“Perhaps. I’m fond of the way things turned out, though. Speaking of, Creighton sent something for you as well.”

“Did he? Paperwork?”

“If it is, it’s a lot of it,” James says, nodding at the coffee table.

Q turns to see a sizable box — big enough for a manuscript — wrapped in red paper with a gold, slightly squashed bow.

“What on earth?” Q muses.

“If it’s black bun, you have to share.”

“Is that buried in the paperwork we signed somewhere?” Q asks, grinning.

“If it’s not, we need to create an addendum.”

They finish their meal — discussing the clusterfuck that was 004’s mission — and clean the kitchen before finally settling on the sofa with another glass of wine. Q’s curiosity is piqued as he sets his glass down and picks up the box.

“It’s heavy.”

“It is,” James agrees.

His tone is a bit strange, and Q studies him for a moment. “Do you know what it is?”

“No,” James complains, “but not for lack of trying to get it out of him. He was very stubborn.”

“That’ll come in handy now that you’re in business together,” Q observes. “Wouldn’t want you bored with someone who was always cowing to your demands.”

James rolls his eyes. “Yes, well, now that he knows that I was in the Navy and we both do ‘something for the government’, he’s taken to teasing me that I don’t give the orders.”

“Too right. Did you tell him _I_ give the orders?”

“And lose all of my presumed authority? Never. Though I suspect he’s guessed.” When Q cackles, James sighs, “Just open it. I’ve been dying to know all afternoon.”

Q tips the box and feels something slide inside. “Whatever it is, it’s solid. Pastry seems unlikely.”

“Hmmm,” James agrees, petting Matilda as she settles on his lap. Merlin is eyeing the bow, Q slides the ribbon of the box, and tosses it onto the floor where the cats can pounce on it in peace. Removing the paper, he recognizes a familiar brand stamped on the outside.

“Creighton bought me Docs?” he muses, opening the box and then gasping.

“What?” James asks.

Q holds up one of the Dr. Martens 1460s, in shape and weight much like the pair in his closet. But where the ones in his closet are black, these are, “Stewart Tartan,” Q says softly.

James grins. “He did say he was going to get you something. I just assumed it would be a scarf. You’re actually much more likely to wear these.”

“I wonder how he knew that,” Q muses, looking a bit suspiciously at James.

He just puts on his most innocent look.

“What’s this one?” Q asks, pointing at the second tartan pattern. “It’s not clan Bond, is it?”

“The Bonds don’t have a tartan,” James says, taking the boot, “But this one is still mine.” When Q furrows his brow in confusion, he adds, “It’s the Black Watch tartan. Meant for military… or really anyone defending the country. The only time I’ve worn a kilt, this is what I wore. You deserve to wear it, too. Both of them, it would seem.”

Q can’t quite describe the emotion that wells up as he takes the boot back, gently stroking a finger over the bright red Stewart tartan and then the darker Black Watch. “They’re perfect,” he announces, pulling them on and lacing them up. They’re stiffer than his old Docs, but he’s sure they’ll soften up with time. He walks around the sitting room, admiring them, then looks up at James, who is watching him with a soft expression.

Q turns to face him. “What do you think?”

“They are very _you_ ,” James answers with a smile. “Just, please don’t wear them with the checked trousers.

Q comes over and kisses him. “I make no promises.”


End file.
